From: [email protected]
Subject: Anniversary
Hi Tilly,
We have decided to hold a family memorial here at the house for Joe’s anniversary in July. Let us know if you’d like to join in. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about if you do come to visit.
Let me know.
Ellen
She stares at the email, reminded of the conversation she’d overheard all those years ago.
I just can’t help but think that maybe you’d be happier longer term with someone who’s a better fit for you … Because we Carters are joiner-iners …
Maybe she really should join in this time. It’s Joe’s family, after all. She probablyshouldspend his death anniversary with them. And she can’t help but feel intrigued – and more than a little nervous – when she considers what Ellen could possibly want to talk to her about.
But on the other hand, maybe she should stay well away from the woman who never thought Tilly was good enough for her son.
She turns her phone face down on the table and changes into her leggings and running shoes. If running works to clear the mind for Joe and Murakami, maybe it can work for Tilly too.
Despite her best intentions her mind is still on the email as she steps on to the canal towpath. Which is why she forgets to check the path is clear and is met by a sudden yell and the screech of brakes. A red bicycle skids to a halt and she leaps out of the way, losing her footing and sprawling dangerously close to the water.
The bike clatters to the ground and a pair of firm hands grab tightly on to her shoulders, steadying her before she stumbles into the canal.
‘Sorry!’ comes a low voice.
‘It’s my fault, I didn’t look,’ Tilly pants, her heart beating rapidly.
She is right by the edge, just one step away from falling in. But the large hands grip her tightly, holding her steady. She is aware of a broad chest just inches away from her and the feel of warm breath that smells like peppermint.
Tilting her head, she looks up and meets a pair of brown eyes flecked with amber, spots a tuft of dark hair poking up through the gap in a blue cycling helmet. The eyes widen as they meet hers, recognizing her at the same moment that she recognizes him.
‘Alfie!’
Instead of one of his usual oversized jumpers and baggy rolled-up trousers, he is wearing shorts and a green cycling jersey that makes Tilly realize for the first time that there was actually abodyunderneath all the knitwear. And not just anybody. His arms are tensed as they hold her tight, making it very hard not to stare at his biceps and forearms. They don’t look like the kind of muscles that come from weights and protein shakes. These are the muscles of someone used to lugging heavy things as part of their daily life, like a woodcutter or a farmer, perhaps. Or, apparently, a bookseller.
He looks down, seeming to only just realize that he is still holding on to her. But instead of immediately letting go he guides her gently away from the water’s edge to the side of the path.
‘Are you OK?’ His eyes fix on her and then dart up and down her body as if searching for injuries.
‘I’m fine.’
He’s close enough for her to see flecks of auburn among the dark strands of his beard and to notice how long his eyelashes are – and that he must be wearing contact lenses, because his usual glasses are missing.
He lets out a breath, his jaw relaxing as he says in a rough voice, ‘Good.’
It’s only then that he lets go of her. Tilly’s arms still feel warm from where he held her.
‘Sorry again,’ she says, trying to make her voice sound as normal as possible. ‘I really wasn’t concentrating. I hope your bike is all right?’
‘Oh, it’s just a pile of old junk.’ He lifts the bike up from the path. ‘Actually, it was my dad’s. But I can’t see any more scratches than were already there.’
‘Oh god, I’m so sorry, are you sure it’s all right?’
‘It’s fine. It’s just a bike.’
